A Not So Romantic Evening

I’m in the mood to write something romantic but all the paragraphs end up brutally murdered by the Backspace key for being so corny, leaving me this blank page and a blinking vertical line. I click the add another tab button and surf the web for some of my favourite past life songs.

He tells me he’s stepping out for a smoke. I nod with a disapproving frown. Instead he gives me one of his deadly winks. I smile. Damn. I guess the theory that a certain part of the female brain goes numb when it comes to love is right. I swore to never love a nicotine addict, but here I am at a coffee joint with one. Our death numbers won’t be very far apart it seems because I’m the caffeine addict in this relationship.

It’s a cloudy Sunday afternoon. All the house chores were done so we figured to go out for the rest of the weekend and relax somewhere cozy. Why not at home since its nice and clean, you may ask. It’s the returning to a tidy, sweet-smelling home to lay down and rest is what we love best. Not many people want to go out during the last few hours of their valuable weekend, so the city streets are not as crowded. We head not very far, to a native-owned coffee shop in front of Menteng Huis. The coffee, I’ve tasted better but the history of this place in his and my life pages is what keeps us coming back. We’ll make our own coffee shop-come-library one day, we say. But other things keep getting in our way.

You know the feeling you get when someone is staring at you? Sort of like a sense you can’t describe but your instincts tell you to look up from whatever your doing, and your instincts are correct? That feeling. I look up and outside the window, with drizzle as his background, he leans by the wall dragging his smoke while watching me idle around not getting any work done as I said I would.

A bit startled by being caught staring, he crosses his eyes and makes that goofy goldfish impression. I press my tongue to my above set of teeth with my mouth closed. My monkey look. He hates this, it makes him want to puke. Out there, knowing my intentions he closes his eyes shut. I put my headphones back on and pretend nothing happenned. The waiter sitting behind the counter was holding his laugh watching us. Especially since the man outside kept his eyes closed for a good 10 seconds, while I was already busy picking songs on Youtube. The same ‘being stared at’ sensation caught him as he glanced at the waiter and hurriedly looked the other way, took his last drag, dropped the cigarette butt in the bin and walked back inside.

He pinched my nose, knowing I was pretending not to see him coming. “I don’t have anything yet.” I sulked. “It’s OK.” he sits beside me and wraps his arm around my waist. “Is it cold outside?” I ask, as I can feel him clinging closer into me. I feel him nod. “Wanna go home now?”

His answer was no and stayed that way for a good 15 minutes of sleep, making sure to stain my cardigan with his drool.

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